


you touched me and it's almost like we knew (that there would be history)

by A_Dassa



Series: I-3 [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst and Feels, BDSM, Body Worship, Consensual Non-Consent, Dark, Dom/sub, Edging, F/M, Face Slapping, Forced Orgasm, Hard BDSM Soft Characters, Heavy BDSM, Human Trafficking, I-3, Kidnapping, Kneeling, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, OTP: Karnesworth - Freeform, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Punishment, Rape Aftermath, Rough Kissing, Sex, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Agency, Torture, Trans Female Character, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Master/Slave, Vaginal Fingering, soft angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-02-09 13:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18638950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Dassa/pseuds/A_Dassa
Summary: She stands up.  “Grab me.”His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”Her mouth compresses into a thin line.  “They need to think I’m fighting you.”He doesn’t understand her point until she pushes him away from her and backs up against the brick wall behind her.  She breathes heavily for a moment, looks at him like she’s considering her words.“Make it real,” she whispers, and he understands.  The charade has begun.--------------------The first time Connor and Karina fuck, it’s for a mission, and it’s supposed to not be personal, it’s supposed to not mean anything, it’s supposed to be professional, but somehow it doesn’t quite end up that way.--------------------Spotify playlist for this pairing here: https://open.spotify.com/user/12122879769/playlist/4QgrV9x8NtPg2iufmluhiW?si=jzaseJhZTsmfaJyVIo56zw





	1. we just dance backwards into each other

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Reaping](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625239) by [McFly33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McFly33/pseuds/McFly33). 



Day 0

Alleyway X

Connor

 

“You sure about this?”  Connor looks at her for a long moment.

Karina just nods, looks straight into his eyes.  “We’re running out of time.” She glances down the alley, then pulls his hands out in front of him and places a pair of handcuffs in them.  “Let’s go.”

He almost drops the cuffs entirely, instead cupping her cheek in one hand.  She leans into it, exhales, closes her eyes. 

There’s a long, breathless second, and Connor swears that Karina’s heartbeat picks up a little.  She moves her head up and down, like she’s nuzzling his palm, and Connor catches what he thinks are the traces of a small, sad smile.  

“I’ll have to undress,” she murmurs, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt.

And it’s then that Connor notices her hands shaking.  She tries the top button once, twice, three times, then closes her eyes and lets out a long, shuddering breath.

Connor moves his hand from her face to her shoulder, looks directly into her eyes.  “Hey. You okay?”

She nods, a quick, jerky movement.  Connor reads this as  _ I’m not okay, not really, but I have to see this through.   _

Her hands freeze over her shirt, and she looks up at him.

“Need some privacy?” Connor asks, starting to turn around.  He finds some trash cans that look vaguely interesting and decides to study them intensely.

Instead, she reaches for both his wrists, pulling his hands towards the neckline of her shirt. He’s still holding the cuffs, and the metal clinks as his hands move.

“I—“ she stammers, “I’d prefer if we did this together.”

Connor doesn’t understand her request at first.  She’s  _ asking _ him to undress her?  This doesn’t feel— well, none of it feels right.  It feels, in fact, the opposite of right. He’s not going to deny that he’s wanted to undress Karina, but not like this. Never like this.  He starts to push her away, his movements becoming more frantic, and she tenses--

That’s when he understands.

Karina, he realizes, is preparing for rough hands, mentally bracing herself to be starved of any gentleness.  Even though their cover stories have been carefully crafted to allow Connor to visit Karina in private frequently without arousing suspicion, Karina’s unique position in this operation means that she will be at risk in a way that few agents ever are in the course of their lifetimes. 

She’s asking for a gentle touch, something that will be rare in the near future.

Connor swallows hard, shoves the handcuffs into his back pocket and takes her hands in his.  He tries to make his hands soft, tries to will warmth and comfort into his palms. He doesn’t say anything— there’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been said during the weeks of planning— just looks into her eyes and breathes slowly, intentionally, making sure she mirrors his movements.  

“Just breathe,” he murmurs.  “It’ll be okay.”

Karina looks at the ground, pulls her hands from his and rubs them together.  “I, um,” she almost whispers, “I’ve never really done this before.”

Connor raises his eyebrows.  “What, you’ve never gone undercover as a gourmet sex slave to be sold on the dark web?  Yeah, I wouldn’t expect that.”

She lets out a sound that could almost be a laugh.  She pauses. “The other thing.”

_ God, _ he needs a moment.

Connor smiles reassuringly, or tries to, at least.  And he does something that he hopes won’t come back to bite him later: he lies. “Getting undressed is the hard part.  The rest is a little easier.”

She nods again, looks towards the buttons on her shirt.

“Here,” Connor says, “I’ll help you.  Just keep looking at me.”

She makes eye contact with him and he reaches for her shirt.  Her hands meet his over the buttons, and she looks down.

“Hey,” Connor reminds her, softly.  “Eyes up here. It’s easier this way.”

She looks up at him, but her hands stay with his.  He doesn’t mind, almost likes it in fact: it feels almost natural, like this isn’t an immensely fucked-up way to take out a sex trafficking ring.  Her hands brush his as they move together down her shirt. They reach the hemline and pause: murmuring another reassurance, he moves his hands up to slip the shirt off her shoulders.  She lets out a small shiver and suddenly he’s very aware of a tightness in his jeans.

“You okay?” Connor searches her face for hints of distress.  

She nods.

“Hey,” Connor whispers, tilting her chin up with one hand to make sure she’s listening.  “There’s something I need you to know.”

“Okay.”

“If at any point you want to call it, just tell me and I will pull you out at a moment’s notice,” he says.  “I know this is a weird mission, but that just means that it’s extra important to me that you feel as comfortable as possible along the way.”

She frowns.  “But policy states—“

His face goes dark.  “I know what policy states.  I’m saying, screw policy. You need be able to call it if things start going downhill.”

She nods.  “Got it.” She bends over and takes off her jeans.  Connor notices the black cottony panties she’s wearing, the mismatched bra— green with lace— the way one of the bra straps falls off her shoulder.  

Fuck.

He shifts his weight, turns away.  Before he knows it, Karina’s hand is soft on his shoulder, pulling him around to face her. 

“Come on,” she murmurs, quiet and a little wrecked.  “Let’s get it done.”

And their gazes meet.

For just a second, he thinks she might be about to kiss him-- her lips are right there next to his, her breath touching his cheek.  She’s standing on tiptoe, her body tight against his in the chilly air. Her arms wrap around his body, and he thinks he feels a small movement of her hips against his. Her pupils are blown wide, large dark pools ready to pull him in.  And he’s suddenly just a little bit dizzy. 

It’s a long, breathless moment before Connor feels grounded again and when he blinks back to reality, he sees that she’s pulled the handcuffs out of his back pocket and is offering them to him again.

“Come on.”

He takes the cuffs from her and starts to twist them around her outstretched wrists when they hear footsteps.  They both turn to listen, Connor motioning for Karina to crouch behind some trash cans in the alley while he checks around the corner.

Two men, heavily armed, tattooed, shaven heads.  Connor recognizes them.

He glances back at her.  “They’re from the ring.”

She stands up.  “Grab me.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Her mouth compresses into a thin line.  “They need to think I’m fighting you.”

He doesn’t understand her point until she pushes him away from her and backs up against the brick wall behind her.  She breathes heavily for a moment, looks at him like she’s considering her words.

“Make it real,” she whispers, and he understands.  The charade has begun. 

He swallows, takes a few deep breaths, and tries to mentally telegraph to her that he’s sorry.  And then he grabs her outstretched wrist, snapping the cuffs around it and cranking it-- tight-- closed.  With his other hand, he pushes her shoulder, spinning her face first into the brick. 

Karina twists her shoulders, a movement which makes a show of struggling without actually fighting him.  As if in reprisal, Connor twists her left arm behind her back and clicks the cuffs around her other wrist.  

The men are around the corner now, and they’re reaching for Karina.  One pulls a fistful of her hair backwards, exposing her throat. The other wraps his arm around her shoulders, hauling her whole body upright.

“Falls,” the taller one greets him.  “Nice catch.”

Connor grips Karina’s elbow a little tighter, forming his words carefully.  “I knew she was perfect from the moment I saw her.”

The other guy, the one with his hand in her hair, looks Karina up and down.  His gaze settles on her chest and her hips. “Not bad.”

Connor steps a little bit in front of her.  “Hey, now. I made the catch. I think I should keep her until the auction, right?  It’s only fair.”

The one who’s got an arm wrapped around her shoulders looks upset, moves his hand down to cup her breast above her bra.  “I’m not sure new guy gets to boss us around.”

Short guy looks at Connor.  “New guy. What makes you think you should train this one?”

Connor blinks and tries to calm the tension showing in his knuckles.  “Everybody’s gotta start somewhere, right? Why not with somebody I caught?”

The tall one thinks for a minute.  “She’ll get a high auction price if she’s trained right.  Lots of clients have a thing for redheads.”

Connor takes a deep breath.  “I’ll train her right. You know I will.”  He’s invoking power, the kind he gained from telling the ring’s boss he had experience as a semi-professional Dominant.  It’s not exactly a lie. He’s done extensive research into kink, and has practiced it with at least one previous girlfriend.  He’s visited a few kink parties and munches, and amassed a decent collection of sex toys. Not that he currently has anyone to use the toys with him.

The other two men don’t argue when Connor reminds them of the boss’s favor.  It’s the one thing he has to hold above them, and he’s been warned to use this power carefully.  

Karina tosses him a look.  Connor reads it as:  _ not two minutes in and you’re already using your power card. _  He hopes the others see it as an expression of hatred towards a kidnapper.

But it gets the others’ hands off her, and isn’t that what he wanted after all?

  
  



	2. trying to keep our feelings secretly covered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory time! Refer to the "day ______" system for timeline.

Day -102

I-3 Regional Headquarters

Karina

 

Karina’s buzzing with anticipation.  She’s been on the executive Black Missions Board for a year now, and this is her first mission proposal.  When the CEO, Kilhear, first asked her to join the board, he’d specified that she’d be serving in an “advisory capacity.”  It’s still technically beyond her purview to propose missions, but she’s got another board member on her side.

Connor’s in the elevator next to her, holding her files. It’s important, she knows, to present perfectly: the tiniest glimmer of unprofessionalism could kill this mission before it even starts.  So Connor’s holding the files, and Karina’s smoothing the wrinkles in her blazer, adjusting her bra straps, brushing a stray hair out of her face. She glances at Connor and, almost without thinking, picks a piece of lint off his collar.  As if his body is hers. As if they’re one unit.

“You ready?” He asks.

She raises her eyebrows.  “As I’ll ever be.”

They step out of the elevator and walk into the boardroom.

“Miss Karnes,” Chairman Kilhear murmurs.  “I hear you’ve got some new business for us.”

Karina nods, takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge.  “Yes, Mr. Chairman. I’ve got a proposal.”

Kilhear’s eyebrows shoot up.  “You know you’re here as an advisor, yes?”

Connor steps in.  “I’ve asked Miss Karnes to help me present this proposal.  She’s done most of the research and, if this mission is approved, she’ll be taking point.”

Karina shoots him a grateful glance.  Even though she technically outranks him, Connor still advocates for her from time to time.  This company, after all, is nothing if not an old boys’ club.

And Connor’s endorsement gets the board’s attention, so Karina launches into the presentation.  “I’ve discovered a dark web sex trafficking ring that we can take down with a targeted sting.” She pulls up screenshots from her research on the projector.  

Kilhear leans forward in his chair.

Karina smiles, knowing she’s got them hooked.  “This sting will take only two agents, minimizing risk while maximizing payout.  If it’s successful, we’ll get a large amount of positive publicity and increase our status with FBI and Homeland investigations into dark web crime.  We’ll also become internationally known as a top name in combating cyber criminal activity.”

Another board member, Agent Vasquez-- the only other woman-- cocks her head.  “And if it’s unsuccessful?”

Karina takes a deep breath.  She’s planned for this question.  She knows Vasquez’ record, knows that she has to bring twice as much to the table in order to simply keep her council seat.  “We’ll only be risking two agents, Ma’am.”

Vasquez nods.  “How do you propose to do this with only two agents?”

This is where the proposal gets risky.  “We go in undercover,” she answers. “One agent poses as a victim, gaining firsthand knowledge of the crimes perpetrated against the abductees.  The other agent goes in as a perp, getting names and information on the people within the ring. The perp agent will go in about two weeks before the victim in order to gain organizational trust.”

Kilhear looks concerned.  “This is a substantial risk to both agents.  We don’t normally approve missions with such a high risk factor.”

Karina nods.  “I’m aware, Sir.  But this ring is particularly heinous, and will definitely get us a lot of positive publicity when we succeed.  I believe that the benefits substantially outweigh the risks.”

Vasquez speaks up.  “Tell us about what makes this ring especially dangerous.”

“Well,” Karina answers, “they’re not exactly your run-of-the-mill sex trafficking ring.  They advertise themselves as a gourmet sex slave agency, kidnapping people and training them to satisfy specific paraphilia and fetishes before auctioning them off to the highest bidder.  This training period takes about two months, which gives our agents time to gather their intelligence before the victim goes to auction. It’s a guaranteed time window, and also gives us an extraction option.  If it goes well, it’s going to be spectacular.”

Vasquez pushes.  “And if it doesn’t?”

Karina takes a deep breath.  “They’ve killed before. If our agents’ covers are blown, survival will be zero.”

Chairman Kilhear looks equal parts enthralled and cautious.  “And who exactly is going to be doing this undercover work?”

Karina takes a deep breath.  “Myself, sir. I wouldn’t ask anyone else.”

Beside her, Karina can feel Connor fidgeting.  This is the only part of the mission that he’s fought her on, and he’s fought her tooth and nail.  The day she told him this part of her plan-- several months in, so he wouldn’t be able to back out-- they’d had their first yelling match, knock-down and drag-out, and hadn’t talked for weeks.  She knows he’s still not okay with it.

Vasquez frowns.  “Yourself and who else?”

“And me, Lieutenant Vasquez,”  Karina hears, from beside her.

She’s barely able to think coherently enough to murmur an excuse before rushing out of the room.

Something about stomach pain.

The next day, there’s a text from Vasquez.  Telling her the mission has been cleared. Hoping her stomach is better.

Karina’s gotten the mission.  It’s what she wanted.

Why is it that now, her stomach hurts for real?

  
  



	3. please excuse me (I don't know where to begin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get some backstory, and Connor checks up on his captive.
> 
> Please note the new tags. This fic will get pretty dark, y'all.

Day 0

Warehouse A

Connor

 

The warehouse is cold and dark, and thankfully it’s just just him and Karina for the moment.  But he knows there are cameras, so he keeps his stony front up.

He checks the cuffs.  They’re tight, biting into the translucent skin on her wrists, but not cutting or bruising.  Good. 

She’s shivering.  He thinks it’s more with anticipation than with cold, but it’s hard to tell.  He moves in front of her, looks into her eyes. They’re wide, pupils blown open, her breaths shallow and rapid.  He takes a deep breath, slowly, visibly, hoping to telegraph some calm. It seems to work: she nods her head just a little bit, closes her eyes, inhales deeply.

There we go.  Can’t be having his kidnapping victim have a panic attack during the first day.  She needs to make it until at least day five if they’re going to have any chance of completing this mission.

Footsteps.  It’s the boss, and his two bodyguards.  Connor hasn’t yet gotten his name, hasn’t yet seen his face.  But at least he’s in the boss’s favor, temporary as that might be.

“Falls.”  The boss speaks from beneath a bandana covering half his face.

“Boss.”

“See you’ve got your first catch.”  The boss’s gaze moves over Karina: her breasts, her stomach, thighs, ass.  He seems to stare at her flesh bunching under her bra strap. “This one’s fat.”

“Curvy, sir.  There’s quite a market for that.”  

The boss seems to approve.  “You want to train this one?”

“Please.”  Connor licks his lips, just to sell the illusion.  He’s playing a villain, after all. Might as well do a little mustache twirling.

“Do it right.”  And the boss is gone, just like that.  The bodyguards remain. Connor’s going to be blindfolded for the ride to their base, he knows.  He hasn’t gained their trust enough to know where it is. 

Karina will be in the trunk of the car.

Karina starts to struggle when one of the bodyguards puts a bag over his head.  He knows, again, it’s mostly for show. He’s led, ungently, across the room and bumped into a car seat.  He hears the trunk slam.

Here goes nothing.

  
  
        ~   ~   ~  
  
  


Day -98

Unit 412 Office

Connor

 

Karina hasn’t spoken to him since the meeting, not really.  She sent him a message asking to meet today, and that’s it. He can’t figure out if she’s mad or not.  She has a right to be, he knows. He just sprang this information on her, giving her no time react in front of the all-too-nitpicky council.  She’d left the meeting then and there, her face twisted as she said something about her stomach hurting. By the time they’d voted and adjourned, she was long gone.

Something petty inside him says that it serves her right, for planning to go undercover as a victim.  He’d almost screamed at Karina when she’d told him. That had been their first, most vicious argument.  She’d almost slapped him-- he grabbed her arm, held it tight, until her flattened hand wilted with his grip.  

He’d left a bruise on her bare arm.

He’s not sure if he’s sorry.

He rides the elevator up to her office but pauses outside the door.  Her door is half-closed, soft melancholy music playing inside. He’s not sure if he should knock or not.  He normally just lets himself in, but with the distance she’s been keeping from him for the past four days, he knocks, just in case.

“It’s open.”

Oh.

Karina gives a half smile when he sees her.  He sits in the chair across from her desk, and she closes her laptop, grabs her mug of tea.  

“What made you volunteer?” Karina asks, right out of the gate, and Connor thinks he hears a hint of accusation in her voice.

What should he tell her?  That, for the past month, while they’ve been discussing this proposal, he’s imagined Karina undercover as a kidnapping victim and almost thrown up every time he imagines anyone else touching her, handcuffing her, pulling her clothes off?  That the thought of her, bared, restrained, turns him on? That, the night after Karina had announced her intention to go undercover, after he left the bruise on her arm, he went home and thought about paddles and collars, his hand in his pants, face flushing red, chanting her name as he came?  

He just asks, “is there someone else you had in mind?” 

Karina’s face goes a little red, and he thinks he hears her breath hitch.

“I hadn’t thought of anyone,” she says, and looks away.

_ What in the the ever loving fuck was that supposed to mean? _

He pushes that question out of his mind and scrambles to amend his question.  “Is it… is it okay that I’m the one?”

She laughs a little.  “Yeah,” she answers. “I’m honestly a little glad it’s not a complete stranger.”

Connor hopes that was a cue for a joke.  “I’d imagine that would be a little awkward.”

She sighs.  “I just-- well, we’ve been friends for a while, and this mission could make it a little weird.  You’re going to need to do a bit of acting to make it convincing.”

It’s at this moment that Connor wishes there were a non-creepy way to say  _ yes, I will definitely have no problem with pretending I want to tie you up and fuck you in all sorts of kinky ways. _

But he’s pretty sure that’s a technical impossibility at this point.  She’s his friend, for fuck’s sake, and she’s either completely oblivious to his crush on her or intentionally ignoring it. 

So he settles for a nonchalant shrug.  “It’s an undercover mission,” he manages.  “I’ve done those before. Shouldn’t be much different.”

And that seems to satisfy her, at least for a bit.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter title taken from "Waking Up Slow" by Gabrielle Aplin.


	4. taste these teeth please and undress me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW FOR THIS CHAPTER: RAPE
> 
> Part of it is that she’s never had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend, for that matter. She’s pretty sure that, given her occupation, she’s not going to be able to trust anyone enough to fuck them. Her body, after all, is a weapon. What terrible things would happen if a weapon tried to love?
> 
> The car pulls to a stop and she tenses. They must’ve arrived at the training base. She squints as the trunk opens and she’s pulled out into a gated yard. Connor steps out of the car, and someone-- one of the boss’s bodyguards, she thinks-- pulls the bag off his head. He looks around, locks gazes with her.
> 
> “Go on,” one of the bodyguards says, pushing Connor towards her. He walks over, and his face is dark with something like hunger.

Day 0

Unknown Location

Karina

 

Karina is cramped and uncomfortable, which means everything is going according to plan.  That tends to be the way of things. The male agents get the cushy assignments, while she ends up in roles that weaponize her gender and-- ugh-- her body.  Usually putting her in gross situations like this one. This one’s different, though: she’s the agent in charge, she’s put the plan together, she’s not following anyone else’s orders.  At least, until the training starts.

She’s done her research, knows what to expect.  Her internet search history will never be the same.  She’s memorized the timeline, prepared herself mentally.  She knows about kink, has known, even since before this mission.  Even thought about trying some herself, but hasn’t been able to summon the courage to go to any parties or events.  She’s tried self-bondage, telling herself it’s for this mission, but only managed to overthink everything and end any potential pleasure before it began.

Part of it is that she’s never had a boyfriend.  Or a girlfriend, for that matter. She’s pretty sure that, given her occupation, she’s not going to be able to trust anyone enough to fuck them.  Her body, after all, is a weapon. What terrible things would happen if a weapon tried to love?

The car pulls to a stop and she tenses.  They must’ve arrived at the training base.  She squints as the trunk opens and she’s pulled out into a gated yard.  Connor steps out of the car, and someone-- one of the boss’s bodyguards, she thinks-- pulls the bag off his head.  He looks around, locks gazes with her.

“Go on,” one of the bodyguards says, pushing Connor towards her.  He walks over, and his face is dark with something like hunger. 

Her first instinct is to fight: she’s well trained, there’s only four of them, and at least she could smash a few faces before getting taken down.  But that’s a straight ticket to a brutal punishment and a blown cover. There’s something else in her gut, too-- an urge to run, perhaps. Maybe it’s Connor, the way he’s looking at her, the way his body seems to hurtle through space towards her.  Maybe it’s the way his shoulders are tensed, his arms reaching like they’re about to possess her. 

Whatever it is, this feeling in her stomach pulses, twists, moves lower.  It’s a very different throbbing when it sits there, between her legs, and she tries to push that thought aside to concentrate on the next few crucial moments of the mission---

She wants to run, right?  She definitely, completely, totally does not want to sink to her knees and obey the orders that Connor is going to be giving her.

For some reason, she follows the gut-legs-whatever feeling and runs.  It’s not exactly satisfying: her stomach still gripes at her and there’s still something missing in her abdomen but there’s no time to figure out why before she’s grabbed and forced to her knees.

The fingers gripping her biceps pinch far too hard to be Connor’s.  Connor is all upturned wrists and soft palms. When he does have to fight, he does so with full hands, firm fists.  Not this kind of pincer grip. 

Karina wonders how she got to know his touch so well.

But then Connor’s in front of her, his gaze full of disapproval.  “Well, princess,” he says, a hint of distaste in his voice. “It looks like we’re starting your punishments early.”

She feels her face go red.  For reasons she doesn’t want to think about, she looks at the ground.  

_ Princess. _  He’d called her that, once, about a year ago.  Teasing. Playful. She’d liked it, too much. She’d hidden the twitching between her legs, the rush of blood, then gone home and replayed it in her mind.  She hadn’t stopped him from calling her Princess, figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She’d even dropped hints that she liked it-- neglecting to tell him  _ how much _ she liked it.  And now, he’s accidentally done the unforgivable, weaponizing her secret, shameful turn-on in the worst possible way.

And it’s definitely too late to tell him,  _ here _ , on her knees with him in front of her, both breathing hard.  There’s a corner in her mind that is somehow still rational, and it reminds her that if she tells him about this, at all, she’s also telling him that she let him turn her on for a year without doing anything about it.

In short, she’s fucked.

Connor’s hand is under her chin now, pinching just enough to pull her to her feet.  Her hands cuffed behind her back are throwing off her balance and she stumbles forward, towards him.  For a moment, their faces are close, and she can feel his breath hot on her cheek. He glances once, twice, at her lips, and god, she’s staring at his too: the way his tongue ghosts just behind his open mouth, the way his lower lip catches on his top teeth, the way his breaths seem to fall with hers.  The way he looks just a little bit dizzy, like he’s forgotten his surroundings.

And just like that he’s gone, turned quickly away, retreating into the reaches of the compound.  For half a second she thinks they’re going to keep her here, away from him. But mercifully, they start to follow: never catching up, just far enough behind to lose sight of him for a few seconds after he turns a corner.

While her guards pull her through corridors and doorways too numerous to count, Karina starts to panic.  Her mind is strangely, remarkably still, but her body rebels into the early signs of a panic attack: her intercostal muscles tense, her sternum seems to curve inward, sharp pain with each inhale.  There’s a buzzing frenzy at the base of her skull. She can’t seem to concentrate on making a mental map of the compound: instead, it takes all her energy to keep breathing. 

They’re going through a set of large double doors which open with a  _ whoosh _ and Karina actually holds her breath, for no reason other than the fact that she has to, needs to exert some control and mitigate some of the pain that moves through her with each breath.  She doesn’t breathe while the guards uncuff one of her hands, pulling both wrists over her head and looping the handcuff chain over an exposed pipe before cuffing her other hand again. She glances up, steals a look at her wrists: pressure marks have left red welts on the skin, but there are no bruises or cuts.  She’s not sure how Connor was able to get the cuffs to the perfect tightness.

Footsteps scrape on the concrete floor in front of her, and Karina looks down to see one of the men from the alley walking toward her.  From the information that Connor’s relayed to her during his time infiltrating before her, she decides he must be Miles: white, early twenties, buzz cut, tattoo of a crow on his right bicep.  And the shorter one should be Murphy: receding hairline, favors his right side when walking. 

Murphy has a bulbous nose that reminds her of Michael.  Maybe one day she’ll give Murphy some grief for that obnoxious nose.

But for now she’s too focused on Miles advancing towards her that she forgets to breathe.  There’s something familiar in Miles’ face, something she’s seen in her other trafficking busts that she despises.  It’s the way Claire looks at a shiny new lab specimen, or the way Michael looks at a sandwich he can’t wait to bite into.  Except it’s laced with power, corrupted with invincibility.

She has to look away.  God, she has to look anywhere but his face.

But he’s right in front of her, looming, and she hasn’t taken a breath for a solid minute and a half, and she can look up into her chained wrists or she can look down at her bare feet and thighs, or she can look to her left at Murphy, or she can look to her right--

She can look to her right.  At Connor.

There’s something in her throat that she can’t quite breathe past.  This has happened before, she reminds herself: it happens regularly, at home, after a long day of paperwork and meetings and depositions and target practice.  It happens at home where she has blankets and tea and three cats. It happens at home where she has Claire to make her laugh, and Judith to protect her, and Michael to bring her her favorite sweater.  

This happens all the time.  It just doesn’t happen on assignment.  Where there are no sweaters and blankets and cats and Judith and Michael and Claire.  Here, there is only the handcuffs and her bare feet and the cold air on her exposed skin.

There is only Connor.

There is only-- god, there is the shock that runs down her body when Miles reaches between her legs and pushes her panties aside and scrapes his fingertips across her labia.

And suddenly her ribcage trembles, like dry heaves.  God, she can’t breathe. Can’t fight. Can’t move.

Connor clears his throat and it brings her back: her eyes refocus, she gasps a little.  The breath, small as it is, sends a welcome jolt of oxygen through her body. She’s looking at Connor, has been looking at him all along.  His fists are clenched, white-knuckled. His face looks deflated. His mouth hangs open, fishlike. He closes it, gulps a little. 

Karina opens her mouth and rolls her head back, telegraphing, hoping that Connor will recognize her struggle for breath.  His eyebrows bend together for half a second, glances around, nods a little.

And then he mouths at her, a silent whisper: “I’m here.  Just look at me.”

She’s able to take a breath, small and shallow, but a breath nonetheless.  Miles is breathing hot and heavy in her ear but all she hears is the silent words Connor’s mouthing at her: “I’m sorry.  I’m here. Keep your eyes on me.”

He’s taking deep breaths, she notices, moving his shoulders up and down slowly.  She mirrors his movements, forcing her shaky stomach to swell and her diaphragm to pull her lungs open.  She unclenches her shoulders, pulls her arms as far down as they will go. 

She returns to earth.  To the concrete floor biting her bare feet.  To Miles’ fingers pumping into her. To the heel of his hand tapping her clit.  To the indignant, pooling pressure between her legs.

There is something ironic, she thinks, in her body betraying her doubly: refusing to breathe, to process oxygen, insistent on responding to sexual stimuli.  One body system shuts down while another overacts.

“I’m sorry.”  Connor’s there, locking his gaze with hers, reassuring her.

“Keep looking at me.”  Connor’s there, talking her through her panic attack, through this assault, through her hips rocking and her body shaking and the tiny, broken whimper that escapes from her wrought vocal cords.

“I’m here.”  Connor’s there when she stops breathing for the second time, when her vision tunnels and her knees buckle and the cuffs finally, finally break through the translucent skin on her wrists.

Connor’s there when she comes.  

Connor’s there and the last thing she sees his his eyes, blue and blown wide, before her body commits the ultimate betrayal, refuses to stay conscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ This is where it starts getting fucked up. Take care of yourselves and stop reading if you need to!
> 
> ~ Chapter title from "Plane" by Jason Mraz.
> 
> ~ This chapter inspired by "The Reaping" by McFly33, which is a lovely (and oh so hot!) Bellarke fic.


	5. don't let your doubtful thoughts carry you away from here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there’s a timeline. It looks scary-- horrifying, to be honest-- but Karina’s done her research, knows exactly what each of these terms means. And the terms by themselves don’t look too bad, here on paper, divorced from accompanying action. Divorced is a good word for this, she thinks: divorced from meaning, divorced from feeling, divorced from thought. 
> 
> She can do divorced.
> 
> She’s done it before, divorced herself, shut herself out of her own body and floated, her senses muted, in a small pool in her mind. During torture, it helps with the pain. During firefights, it helps keep her anxiety from taking over. The company-mandated therapist calls it disassociation. She calls it a tool.
> 
> \----------------
> 
> In which we meet some of Karina's co-workers, and Connor learns that Karina's going undercover.

Day -130

I-3 Unit 412

Karina

 

So there’s a timeline.  It looks scary-- horrifying, to be honest-- but Karina’s done her research, knows exactly what each of these terms means.  And the terms by themselves don’t look too bad, here on paper, divorced from accompanying action. Divorced is a good word for this, she thinks: divorced from meaning, divorced from feeling, divorced from thought.  

She can do divorced.

She’s done it before, divorced herself, shut herself out of her own body and floated, her senses muted, in a small pool in her mind.  During torture, it helps with the pain. During firefights, it helps keep her anxiety from taking over. The company-mandated therapist calls it disassociation.  She calls it a tool.

She closes her eyes and imagines rough hands grabbing her, pushing and prodding.  Squeezing her tits. Tearing clothing. She practices disassociating, zoning out and letting it happen, stepping back from the moment.  

It’s not so bad.  A body is just a body.  A hand is just a hand. A weapon is just a weapon.

A knock sounds on her door, and she pulls herself back.  It’s almost like swimming to the surface of a deep pool. 

“Come in,” she calls, shaking any residual sluggishness out of her limbs.

It’s Michael.  “Found something you might want.”  He shoves a tablet over toward her, motioning for her to start the video he’s pulled up.

“What am I looking at?” Karina asks.  As if she doesn’t know. 

“It’s their… their acquisitions process.”  Michael says it oddly, like he doesn’t quite hear what he’s saying.  “This is what the first day looks like.”

It’s security footage from an alleyway-- the one she’s labeled Alleyway X.  Most of the abductions take place around this area of town. A girl sprints down the alley, screeching to a halt when a van barrels toward her.  Two men jump out of the van, grabbing her by the hair and arms while the first man-- the one she’s running from-- catches up. One grabs a pair of scissors and cuts her shirt off.  The other zip-ties her hands behind her back. Then she’s in the van and it’s gone. The whole thing takes less than twenty seconds.

When Karina looks up, Michael’s staring at her, like he expects her to say something.

“So?” he prompts.

“Fun,” she deadpans.  When Michael rolls his eyes, she continues.  “You’re acting like I’ve never been kidnapped before.”

“Not this type of kidnapped,” he answers, and she’s forced to agree.  “This is scarier.”

She laughs a little.  “I can do scary.”

He scoffs, looks up at the ceiling.  “I know. It’s just-- It’s going to be you, and a random stranger, and an entire compound of panic triggers.”

“Then I won’t panic.”

“You say it like it’s that easy.”  Michael shrugs. “Panic attacks have a habit of happening at the worst possible moment.  Like calls from your mom.”

And Karina has to laugh, the way Michael says it.  Like her mom is the scariest human in the world. Like, in this world of mobsters and assassins, the person most to be feared is an at-home music teacher from upstate New York.  

Of course Michael devolves into silliness, Karina thinks.  It’s his visceral reaction to any tension, anywhere. A defense mechanism.  A weapon.

Karina has her own defense mechanisms, her own weapons.  Divorce is one. Deflection is another. She can take a tense conversation and turn it inside out, dissecting it until the conflict is small and manageable.  This comes in especially handy when Michael and Judith butt heads, and neither of them is able to articulate why exactly they’re mad. 

It’s not that she’s a particularly good agent.  It’s just that she communicates when the others don’t.  She follows protocol when others don’t. She hears subtext that others don’t.

And she hears the subtext in Michael’s words, sees the way he’s fiddling with the buttons on the tablet.  She takes a step closer, breathes in and out again, casts an easy smile on her face.

“I’ll be fine, Michael,” she reiterates.  “You know I’m a good agent.”

Michael nods and purses his lips.  “You know me. I just had to check.”

She laughs.  “Fuck you.” Then, when he raises his eyebrows, “No really.  I appreciate the concern but fuck. You.”

Michael raises his hands, like a gesture of surrender, then leaves the room.

And she’s got a moment of silence to think about what he said.  She can do scary. She’s not worried about that. She’s never done rapey and terrifying.  Not yet.

And anyway, she’s got fifteen minutes for a quick snack before Connor arrives for their meeting.  She goes to the kitchen and grabs a cup of yogurt from the fridge. Then turns around and--

JUDITH.

Karina shrieks a little, dropping her yogurt.  

“Hi,” Judith deadpans.  “I need the coffee. It’s right behind you.”

Karina moves out of the way.  “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Won’t promise anything,” Judith answers, nudges Karina, and finally cracks a tiny

smile.   “I’ve gotta bother you for at least another twenty years.”

“As long as you let me inject you with estrogen every week,” Karina answers.  They’ve made a weekly ritual out of Judith’s weekly hormone therapy shots. They’ll shut the four of them-- Judith, Karina, Michael, and Claire-- into Judith’s office, dim the lights, share a snack.  Some ice cream or the cookies that Karina’s mom bakes. Judith hates needles but won’t let anyone know it: she even tries to hide it from Claire and Michael. So Karina will whisper a few words, a reminder to breathe.  To forgive her past. To treasure her present. To look forward to her future. And, before the spell breaks, Karina will slip the needle into Judith’s thigh and depress the plunger slowly. Afterward, Karina will safely discard the needle while Judith, Claire, and Michael finish the ice cream.  They do it every Monday. It’s one of their favorite nights.

“So, about this mission,” Judith continues.  “You’ve got a plan?”

Karina nods, spooning yogurt into her mouth.

“And you’re sure you’re going in?”  Judith asks. “Just you?”

Karina nods.  She doesn’t answer, still swirling yogurt around on her tongue.

Judith sighs.  “Cut the bitches.  Hell, kill them all.  They deserve it.” 

And she’s gone, coffee in hand.

The doorbell rings just as Karina’s finishing her yogurt.  She lets Connor in and silently leads him to her office. He knows the way, but he still stays a full three feet behind Karina as they move down the hall.  It is her turf, after all. If Karina were to visit Connor’s unit, she’d stay behind him, she’s sure.

When they reach her office, she closes the door behind them and takes a deep breath.  This is the conversation that she’s avoided for weeks. The one that’s probably going to push him away.

“So,” she begins, and lets the word dissolve in the air between them. 

Connor takes a breath.  “You said you wanted to talk.”

She nods.  “So, up till now we’ve been designing this mission in hypotheticals,” she says.  “But now we need to talk particulars.”

Connor worries his bottom lip between his teeth.  “But we can’t work particulars until we have specific agents that we’re designing this mission for.”

Karina inhales.  “Exactly.” She pauses, searching for the wording.  Finally, she just takes the plunge. “I’m going to be the victim.”

Connor looks almost as if he’s been knocked out of his clothes.  “Karina--”

She cuts him off.  “Listen to me. I can’t ask someone else to do this.  It’s too risky.”

“So you’re going to risk yourself?”

She scoffs.  “Of course I am.”  
Connor’s voice gets louder.  “Maybe-- Karina, maybe if you’re not willing to ask someone else to do this, you shouldn’t do it yourself.”

Karina takes a step closer to him.  She pushes her point as she pushes into his personal space.  “Oh, so you were fine with this mission in theory, but as soon as we talk about putting it into practice you get queasy?”

Connor looks away.  “Karina, it’s not that--”

“Then what is it?”

Connor’s full-on yelling now.  “You can’t do this-- not you!”

Karina cuts into his rambling.  She’s anticipated this argument.  “So you think we should pick someone  _ expendable _ ?  That we should send someone else to do our dirty work?”

She’s backed him into a corner and she knows it.  But he just lashes out more. Still yelling. “ _ God, yes! _  Anyone but you.”

Karina’s so taken aback by this that her only instinct is to fight.  Like a reflex, she snaps a hand back and aims it at his cheek. Before it can make impact, though, Connor’s caught her wrist, squeezing it so tight she’s sure that it’s going to leave a bruise.

Connor punctuates each word clearly, speaking so deliberately that it stops Karina in her tracks.  “If you want to kill yourself with these batshit missions, do it. But, for God’s sake, let the rest of us know so you don’t kill us too.”

Their faces are so close, Karina can feel his breath on her lips.  He’s breathing hard, and she is too. He’s still gripping her wrist, and she can feel her hand wilting above his grasp.  She glances at his lips, the way they’re flushed and almost trembling, the way his voice is hoarse and gravelly, the way his eyes are flared wide and his pupils blown open.  

She pulls her arm away from him, just a little bit, testing his grip.  He holds on for half a second, and then he’s gone, not holding her, not even close, his back turned and already disappearing down the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from "Call This Home" by An Atlas to Follow.


	6. now I'm running scared, how did it come to this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Karina and Connor put on a show for the cameras.

**Day 1**

**Compound**

**Karina**

 

She drifts awake slowly at first, then snaps alert once she realizes.  Day one. She lays still for a moment to take a catalogue of herself, her body, her environment.  She’s trained to do this: to make a mental note of anything and everything before engaging with any surroundings.

Her body feels a little stiff but fine.  She’s still wearing the bra and panties she had on yesterday.  Left hand is cuffed to the frame of the bed beneath her. Her wrists, both of them, are wrapped in thin white bandages.  

The room next.  She’s in a small room with concrete floor and walls.  The ceilings are high, and there’s a small window on one wall.  She doesn’t think it’s meant to open, but she could probably smash through the glass if needed.  

The door looks heavy and thick, and probably locks securely.  There’s an open bathroom opposite the door. No other means of ingress or exit.  

She sees cameras in the corners of the ceiling.

The only other interesting feature of the room is the furniture: besides the cot she’s chained to, there’s a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and large four-poster bed with thick, dark bedding and a chest at its foot.  A figure lies sprawled on the bed: she sees dark hair and freckled skin.  

Connor.  

He’s shirtless, lying on his stomach, on top of the duvet.  Karina realizes that this is the first time she’s noticed the freckles covering his back: gentle pricks like constellations across his skin.  

And there’s nothing for her to do, chained to the bed, except remember the first time she commented on his freckles: it had been after a botched mission rescuing another agent who’d gotten captured by Somali pirates.  The agent had died but they’d survived, kicked shoes off and swam to shore. A bullet had grazed his right shoulder and she’d pulled his shirt off to dress the wound. That was the first time she noticed his shoulders, the dots on them, and after they had stopped the bleeding she mentioned them.  She remembers the way he’d blushed, then told her that he freckled under sunlight. She’d openly challenged him on that-- her red hair and pale skin freckled instead of burning during summer. His skin-- she had almost accused-- was too dark to freckle from sun. So he’d told her, gently, quietly, about how his mother’s family had emigrated from the Philippines, undocumented.  Eventually, they’d gotten papers and earned citizenship, but they still consider it a family secret. He gets his freckles from her.  

She smiles a little at the way his voice sounds in her memory: soft, secretive.  As if he’s afraid, in this cave on the Tanzanian coast, that someone will hear. As if this knowledge, this secret, is only for them.  

And after that, she had touched his shoulder, the wounded one, inspected his dressing.  Wordlessly, he’d let her gently move his torn shirt aside to look at the laceration, followed her gaze to the injury and then looked up at her face.  Their faces had been so close that she could feel his breath on her lips.  

They’d fallen asleep next to each other that night and woken to warm sea air.

Karina wonders how she’s never noticed his back before: how smooth the skin is, how she can see the muscles and bones underneath.  How it moves so gently with his breath, his scapulae rolling and his intercostal muscles shifting. How the freckles on his shoulders spread downward, cascading, thinning until they become invisible at the small of his back.

He lets out just the tiniest bit of a snore as he sleeps, and it’s a comforting sound.  It reminds her of the nights-- god, so many nights-- next to each other on missions: sometimes huddled together for warmth, sometimes sharing a pop-up tent, often nursing bruises or fighting away panic attacks.  His snore, his breath,  _ he _ has always been a constant.  For years, he’s known how to calm her down during a panic attack, how to interpret the way her lips twitch or her eyebrows quirk. 

The missions she runs with Judith, Claire, and Michael-- her unit, 412-- are amazing.  Unit 412 is her family, but Connor--  _ Connor _ is home, is intimate in a different way.  It’s almost as if all the characteristics she admires in Judith, Claire, and Michael are wrapped up in Connor.  Judith’s logic and willingness to call Karina out on her bullshit. Michael’s thoughtfulness. Claire’s snark. It’s as if Judith and Claire and Michael are her siblings, but Connor’s her twin.

She looks down at her wrists again, at the gauze around them.  Slowly, gingerly, she pushes the dressing aside just enough to see the blood dotting the fabric, to inspect the scabs forming.  

It’ll heal, she thinks.  It always heals.

Connor stirs on the bed.  She leans towards him, and her cuffed hand clinks against the metal bed frame.

And it’s that sound which pulls him awake, then upright, looking around quickly until his gaze rests on her.  He rolls out of bed and pads over to her, his bare feet poking out from under yesterday’s blue jeans.

“Morning,” she murmurs, but he’s silent as he kneels beside the bed and bends to check her bandaged wrists.  

He keeps his head bowed while he whispers, “There are cameras, but no sound.”  

Karina points her chin upwards to signal that she understands.  It’s almost a nod.

They can talk like this, with their faces turned away from the cameras, so Connor sits next to her on the bed for a minute.

“What can you tell me?” she asks quietly, picking at the gauze on her wrists.

Connor leans over to move her hand away from her injuries before he answers.  “As far as I know, they trust me, but I’m still new. We’ll be watched closely.  I can gain more of their trust by acting as macho as possible.”

“Turn up the toxic masculinity,” Karina mutters half to herself, then takes a second to think.  “Okay, then, here’s how we’re going to play this. I’m going to be scared and frozen, so you’ll take the lead.  After a week or so, I’ll get more docile.”

“Got it,” Connor answers. “There’s just one problem: your medicine.”

Of course, she thinks.   With the cameras, she can’t openly take the anti-depressants that Connor has smuggled in for her.  But there’s a plan. There’s always a plan.

“I’ll try to attack you tonight.  After that, you force-feed me sleeping pills each night.”

He nods, just a little.  “We should start working up to that now.”  Any move, any escape attempt on Karina’s part has to look premeditated, foreshadowed.   They have to set the stage for the attack.

“Then,” Karina ventures, “the first thing--” she pauses.  They both know what the first thing to happen is. They’ve gone over the timeline together, for fuck’s sake.  

Connor clears his throat.  “And you’re sure? You’re ready?”

Karina laughs a little, but it’s dry, choked.  She looks away. “As I’ll ever be.”

Her voice dies too fast in the bare room.  

There’s nothing to say, after all, nothing that can make this any less fucked up.  Nothing that will make it okay. Nothing to un-cross this line.

“I trust you,” she whispers, small and soft.  Her hand brushes his, and  _ god _ , the heat radiating from his skin is like nothing she’s ever experienced before.

 

\- - -

 

**Connor**

 

It’s fluid, the way he spins and is on her in a second, hovering over her, pressing her into the cot.  Her hands move, and the metal cuff snaps against the bed frame. Connor uses one of his hands to pin her free wrist to the mattress, holding it above her head.  

For the cameras, of course, he tells himself.  He has to appear dominant for the cameras.

She’s breathing hard, he notices: her lips are parted slightly and she’s staring at his mouth.  His gaze locks with hers, and he thinks she can read the regret and desire warring behind his eyes.

He hopes, desperately, belatedly, that she hasn’t guessed how many times he’s thought of doing just this: of pinning her to a bed and holding her close, feeling her breath, her heartbeat, her body.  Her pulse fluttering in her throat. Her breaths sharp and shallow. Her cheeks flushed. Her chest moving up and down so, so fast. The word  _ heaving  _ springs into his mind and he quickly pushes it away.  

No, these are not the signs of arousal, he tells himself.  They are signs of excitement, of anxiety, of adrenaline.  

He searches her face for signs of alarm.  Instead, she moves her chin up into a tiny nod.  It is a nod, has to be a nod. They’ve used this gesture hundreds of times before, in identical situations, when they’ve been acting undercover, unable to communicate.  

He thinks of the time in Yukon, when he’d been taken hostage, used as a human shield.  He’d given her this same nod, and she’d shot through his shoulder, hitting his captor in the heart.  And again in Milwaukee, when she’d nodded just like this to him when she’d gone undercover in the mob.  

It’s just like that, he thinks, then stops himself.  Because it’s not just like that. The action is the same but the context is different.  This is kissing, not shooting, and of the two he knows that kissing is the more dangerous.  

Or is it?  Does Karina think of this as just another undercover gig, just another charade that they will maintain and eventually discard?  Does she know that he is approaching-- no-- has already passed the point of no return?

Just do it, then, he tells himself.   _ Dumbass.  Just do it _ .

When he kisses her, he feels none of the anticipation he’d hoped for: there’s no buildup to the way his lips crash into hers.  He’s imagined it would feel like something clicked into place, like the world is suddenly right in a way it’s never been before.  He’s imagined her lips would be soft. He’s imagined she’d gasp in that soft way she does, then hold her breath and gently tip her lips onto his.  

This kiss is nothing like that: it’s rough and dry and her lips are so tense that his teeth clack into hers.  When he pulls away, she doesn’t chase him. She just lies there, and he’s struck once again by how goddamn  _ small  _ she is under him, how easy it seems to overpower her.  Of course, he knows, she’s not really fighting him, she’s just pretending: but he finds it all too easy to believe that she doesn’t want this to last, hasn’t thought of this like he has.  That it doesn’t mean anything to her.

_ God _ , he should have told her that he was getting attached.

He wonders when, exactly, he started to think of her as a little more than a friend.  He thinks about the time in Tanzania, when he’d told her about his mom. Or the time in Brazil, when he’d seen her hold a handgun under her own chin and felt her index finger shake on the trigger.  Or in St. Louis, when they’d celebrated a job well done with a few too many vodka sodas and she’d lurched into his arms, her head fitting  _ just so _ onto his chest--

A soft sound, like a throat clearing, him brings him careening back to the present: to his hands around Karina’s wrists, to her under him, to his dick pulsing in his boxers.   _ Shit _ .  He adjusts his position, quickly, hoping she didn’t feel him hardening.  He leans in close to her face, whispers close to her ear:

“Sorry about the, um, physical response.”

She doesn’t answer for a second, and when she does it’s low, terse.  “Nothing to worry about. Bodies do things.”

He feels her struggle beneath him, and even though he knows she’s not really fighting, he feels a thrill run through him as he pushes her limbs into a spread-eagle position.  He’s got one foot spreading her legs, another knee bracing him against the bed frame. Her hips are moving against his waist-- rocking? Could that hip motion be something other than an elaborately constructed performance?

No, he quickly tells himself.  He’s projecting, clearly desperate to believe that she wants him.  Time to finish it. Making sure the camera can clearly see, he holds his left forearm against her windpipe.  He gives her a minute to show the camera that she’s struggling against him-- her hips, they’re moving again and it’s too much-- he peels himself off her, tears into the bathroom, and locks the door behind him.


	7. oh, i'm gonna be your bruise

Connor remembers, distinctly, the time he first noticed Karina’s eyes.  During the Christmas party when they’d first met and danced together, he’d been too entranced by her hair to notice them.

_ Her hair, in ringlets.  Her hair, shifting in the light.  Her hair, red and gold and luscious, brushing her shoulders. _

It wasn’t until the New Years’ Eve party that he saw her eyes.

_ Her eyes, dark brown, like a forest.  Like he swears he could see moss growing in her irises.  Her eyes, huge, soaking up every detail, every speck of light. _

Once he saw them, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was watching him.  Like she could glance at him and see the dirty shirts on the chair in his studio apartment.  The knotted muscles on his shoulders after a job.  

He feels like she’s still watching him now, across the concrete dungeon room, through the bathroom door.  

He pushes that thought away.

He thinks of her hair splayed across her pillow while she sleeps.  _  Her hair, soft on her shoulders.  Her hair, shining in the sun. _   He thinks about leaning close to her, pressing a kiss to her temple.   _ Her hair, brushing his lips. _

He thinks about all the times he’s pushed his lips against her hair, like a child writes its name on every prized toy.  He admits to himself, here, in this moment, that he’d intended them as kisses, but if Karina ever asks about it he decides he will deny it.

But then,  _ god _ , he thinks of her hips, keening upwards against him.   Their motion slow, hesitant, as if unsure about the movements.  He replays those moments in his mind: the muscles inside her thighs contracting, her eyelids stuttering closed.  Her chin rising, as if presenting her neck and chest.

Connor sheds his pants and boxers, standing naked above the toilet.  Almost without thinking, his hand goes to his cock, grasping distractedly at its ache.  He can feel his cheeks reddening, his breaths evening until he’s inhaling in time with his strokes.  He hasn’t come for weeks and  _ god  _ he’s close.  His eyelids droop closed and he rolls his head back, but he still catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

_ Fuck. _

He’s suddenly aware of himself standing there, like an idiot, desperately jerking off to thoughts of his best friend.  While she’s handcuffed to a bed on the other side of the door. On a mission. Undercover.

Connor pulls his pants back up and quickly places this experience on his mental list of stupidest things he’s ever done.  

But he still can’t shake the memory of Karina’s lips on his, her eyes dark with wonder and anticipation-- or was it fear?-- and her body moving just the tiniest bit under his.  

And it’s because of this that he doesn’t look at her when he exits the bathroom.  Instead, he goes to the chest at the foot of his bed and pulls out a thin leather collar.  

“Time to get dressed, princess,” he says, and turns to her.

_ Is it just his imagination, or does her face redden when he says that?  _

She sits up, still avoiding his gaze.  Her free hand combs through her hair. She glances around the room until her gaze rests on her cuffed hand, the left one.  She rubs her hands together, and Connor thinks he sees her pick at the skin around her cuticles.  

He stands behind her, then, and reaches out for the back of her neck.  He pauses, imagining: he’ll sweep her hair to one side, then  _ ever so gently _ drape the collar around her neck, buckling it at her nape.  He’ll do it reverently, as if clasping a necklace.

But when his fingertips brush her skin, she coils away from him.  She hisses, almost feral, and lunges as far from him as she can.

“Don’t touch me,” she murmurs, her voice breaking on the word  _ touch. _

Connor can’t tell if she’s acting or not.  She’s facing the camera, hunched over, hands pulled to her chest as if to protect herself.  She looks at him but doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her glance drifts to his hands: they’re reaching out for her, grasping.

Connor knows one of two things is true: either she is acting, and he must act along; or, in the wake of him forcing a kiss to her lips, she is  _ terrified  _ of him.

Both thoughts send a wave of nausea straight to his gut.  Because, even if she is just acting, this is how she  _ should  _ react.  The horror that she and others-- (god, so many others)-- is going through, it is real.  Whether her reaction is natural or contrived, it doesn’t matter. She is right to dart away from his grasp.  Any person in their right mind would hate him after what he’d done.  

But he can’t stop.  He  _ can’t  _ stop, or he’ll blow his cover and hers.  He must complete this descent into hell.

He thinks of all the characters in stories who have journeyed through the underworld-- Orpheus, Gilgamesh, Odysseus, Aeneas, Lazarus.  They even have a word for it: katabasis, meaning descent. In all the stories, the hero emerges changed.  

Connor wonders how he will change.  How Karina will change. He wonders if, like Orpheus and Eurydice, this descent will tear him from her forever.

He wonders if she will ever forgive him.

He takes a deep breath and holds it.  He will do this, he tells himself, for as long as this breath lasts.  When he needs to breathe again, he will stop. Then he will take another breath and hold it and begin again.

So he grabs Karina’s free wrist and doesn’t take a breath.  He holds her arm with one hand and grabs her hair with another.  He pins her arm behind her and pulls her head back, exposing her neck.  She struggles but he holds her steady.

“Let go of me,” she gasps.  

Connor doesn’t-- can’t-- speak.  He holds his breath, still. 

“What do you want?” she asks, and her voice cracks.  She sounds like she’s near tears.

But he can’t answer.  If he answers, he will tell her the truth.  So instead he flips her on her stomach, pulls the handcuff key from his pocket, and cuffs her hands behind her back.  He pulls her head up by her hair and buckles the collar around her neck.

There it is: the burning in his throat, the tightness in his chest.  He pulls away from her and inhales.  

He glances back at Karina.  She could almost be asleep, the way she has collapsed facedown on the bed.  The way her shoulders move with each breath. The way her scapulae ripple under her pale skin.

He has caught his breath.  He swallows, feeling his adam’s apple catch on a patch of dry skin at the back of his throat.  And he grabs her by the hair, pulls her upright, slams a bruising kiss to her lips, then hauls her out of the room and down the hallway to begin her training.


	8. so hold my body, yeah hold my breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Karina looks. It looks like a regular online shop at first, with listings and logos and--  
> Oh. Oh god.
> 
> Flashback: it all begins.

Day -207

Unit 412 Office

Karina

 

Michael’s knock sounds different when he’s excited, and Karina doesn’t even have time to swallow the tea she has in her mouth before he barges into her office.  Not that she’s ungrateful: it’s just that she hasn’t really had time to eat a full meal yet today, and she’s been looking forward to brewing this sample tea bag ever since Claire brought it back from the gourmet expo she went to over the weekend.  

So, when Michael shoves Karina’s tea aside and plops his open laptop in front of her, she scoots her chair away from her desk and turns to him.

“I can’t drink a cup of tea in peace?”  she snaps. “This is the blackberry sage sample Claire brought me and it’s getting cold.”

Michael looks so much like a kicked puppy that she’s almost sorry.  But he just points to the laptop. “You’re gonna want to see this,” he says.

And Karina looks.  It looks like a regular online shop at first, with listings and logos and-- 

 _Oh_.  Oh god.

Karina’s turning on Michael now, her face red.  “You found this how?”

“During my regular dark web sweeps, making sure our private information isn’t available.  There was a doxxing site, then a revenge porn site, then this.” He gestures vaguely in the computer’s direction.

“We have to do something.”  Karina spins in her chair, cards a hand through her three-days-unwashed greasy hair.  

“I normally turn these kinds of things over to the feds, but I don’t know if they do anything and this was-- this is something else.  We can’t just pass the buck on this.”

Karina nods.  “You made the right call.  What can we do?”

Michael exhales, heavily, his cheeks inflating, then collapsing as his lips buzz.  “We have to be strategic. We can’t spook them, or they’ll kill the hostages. Merchandise.  Whatever. The people.”  

Karina brings a hand up to her mouth, chews a fingernail.  “But we don’t have names, or a way in. We don’t even have a physical address.”

Michael holds up a hand.  “I’ll work on getting a way in.  You figure out what to do after.”

Karina reaches for her tea, but stops herself.  “We need to take out the whole operation in one fell swoop.  Which means we need names, and we need to verify the scope so we can make sure to get everybody at once.  And, for the arrests to stick, we’ll need Corporate to sign off on this.”

Michael sighs.  “You’re better with company politics than me.” 

“I’ll take care of getting permission,” Karina answers.  “Tell me this: is there any way we can get all this intel online?  How much data can you get from the dark web?”

“Not much,” Michael says.  “Tor’s hiding everything. All I can see is the shopfront.”

Karina thinks for a moment, turning away from Michael and toward her bookshelf.  “New plan: see if they need employees. Find out how they acquire their ‘merchandise.’  We’ll try to get them that way.”

Michael frowns for a minute, then his eyes widen with something like horror.  “No, no, _no_.  This is not a good idea.”

Karina turns on him, taking a few steps forward and gesturing vaguely.  “I’m open to better suggestions, if you have them.”

And that shuts him up.  Michael’s mouth hangs open for a moment, like a particularly frustrated fish, but he eventually slumps forward with a sigh.  

“Fine,” he rasps.  “This is a horrible idea, but you know that.  And we don’t have a better one.”

“I’ll need someone else,” Karina murmurs, ignoring him.  “I’ll be treated like a commodity, won’t be able to find anything.  I need someone who can go in with me, as a perp.”

Michael frowns.  “Why can’t we just send one guy in?  Have him pose as a perp?”

“And have him rape and abuse an innocent victim to preserve his cover?” Karina asks. “Absolutely not.  I’ll at least be able to know what’s coming.”

“And you’re--” Michael breaks off-- “you’re absolutely certain that _you’re_ going to do this?”

“I can’t ask anyone else,” Karina reasons, and she knows Michael has to at least see the logic in that.  “I wouldn’t do that to someone.”

“Who’s gonna be the other guy?” Michael asks.

Karina laughs a little.  “I don’t know. It might get weird if it’s a friend.  Should it be a stranger? I feel like it should be a stranger.”

Michael makes finger-guns, points them at her.  “You’re overthinking.”

She does the finger-gun thing right back.  “You’re annoying me.” She drops her hands, gets serious.  “But really. Who should I ask?”

Michael shrugs.  “I don’t know. Connor?  Forrest? Send out a random request?”

Karina thinks for a second.  “Corporate won’t approve it unless they know who’s going in.  I have to pick someone they’ll like.”

“They like Connor,” Michael mentions, and Karina can’t argue.  Connor joined the black missions board after she did, but he’s already had more than half of his mission proposals approved.  Probably has something to do with the fact that he’s a straight white man. Well, Karina corrects herself, a white man. She assumes he’s straight-- she thinks he’s mentioned ex-girlfriends-- but can’t be sure.

Anyway, she needs to shoo Michael out of her office so she can get to work. 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” she says, repeating her mom’s favorite saying, and pushes Michael’s laptop into his hands and steers him out the door.

She shoots a quick message to Connor: _come see me.  I found something._

Then Karina closes her eyes, imagines how this conversation will go:

_Her: I want to go undercover as a human trafficking victim and I need you to help._

_Him: This is a monumentally bad idea._

_Her: I see that, but consider this: I won’t be able to sleep at night if I don’t._

_Him: Yeah, you’re fucked.  I’m leaving._

And maybe that isn’t exactly how it’ll go, but it might as well be: Connor won’t ever approve of working on a mission that has the capacity to harm her like this.  He’ll never agree to a mission that’s essentially, “pretend rape me, to fight crime.”

She needs to adjust her expectations.

Connor will never agree to this, not if she tells him up front that she’s planning on going undercover.  And she should probably just forget about any chance of him joining her.  

So here’s the new plan: she won’t tell Connor that she’s going to be the one going undercover as the victim.  And she’ll forget about asking him to be the perp. After she’s got it approved, with Connor by her side for appearances, she’ll call Forrest, Schmidt, and a few others.  

Her phone pings with a message.  

It’s Connor.

_On my way._

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Fic and chapter titles from: "There's No Way" by Lauv, "Waking Up Slow" by Gabrielle Aplin, and others.
> 
> ~ I'll update tags as I write. This is a pretty dark fic! The relationship between the main two is healthy and consensual, but the mission will get fucked up lol
> 
> ~ This fic is heavily influenced by "The Reaping" by McFly33 (a lovely Bellarke fic that I highly recommend!)


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